


Noxian mind games

by JackJohnJackson



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Canon Compliant, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Former relationship hinted, Mind Games, Sexual Tension, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:42:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27450664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackJohnJackson/pseuds/JackJohnJackson
Summary: Swain and LeBlanc enjoy a night of their usual games.
Relationships: Emilia LeBlanc/Jericho Swain
Comments: 1
Kudos: 30





	Noxian mind games

A dull echo carried through the stone walls of the Immortal Bastion, the warm orange light of dusk piercing through the fortresses windows lowly illuminating the eerily vacant hallways. A lone Trifarian Legionnaire marched towards the war-room of the bastion, located deep within its labyrinthine corridors the war-room stood fortified as the core of Noxus. For years the halls of the bastion were crowded with the marching of soldiers and servants, footsteps and chatter once created a deafening chorus, but now silence and emptiness plagued the corridors. A change of staff could do wonders to shift tones the legionnaire mused, their smirk undetectable underneath the dark metal helmet. As the soldier approached the doors, they slowed their pace allowing the lowly door guards to quiet their chatter. In the legion armour alone they stood higher and far more intimidating than the basic armed infantry, yet they knew the punishment for skipping their duty. The guard standing to the right of the doors drew his short, cheap sword and raised it to the eye level of the dark armoured soldier.

“Halt legionnaire, state your business with the Grand General.”

The legion warrior stopped mid stride, their heavy cape carrying the momentum flicked forward, causing the guard to flinch backwards at the movement towards them. The other guard was dumb-founded by what stood before him. The Trifarian Legion were the elite soldiers of Noxus, it was gossiped amongst the lower classes that they stood equal to ten men on the battlefield. Their appearance reflected their status. Full plate armour accentuating their physical presence over the lower soldiers, a short pole-axe that wouldn't be paused breaking through the metal of lesser forged weapons, the crest of Noxus emblazoned silver against the black metal chest-plate. Their voice carried the same magnitude as their appearance, heavy and booming, but stout and to the point.

“I bring a report from The Hand.”

The warrior held out their hand, a folded piece of parchment wax-sealed with a wolf crest, the sign of the Grand Generals closest confidant, General Darius. Swallowing back their reservations the older guard sheathed his sword and gestured to the younger to open the door, returning the gesture with a nod they knocked on the hardwood twice to alert the inhabitant before swinging it open. The legionnaire resumed their march forward into the room, the guards closing the door behind them.

The cavernous room was designed to house dozens of strategists and generals at a time, instead tables and chairs for a crowd were cleared out leaving it vacuous aside from one grand desk at the centre. Swain sat alone on a heavy high-backed chair with his armoured-coat draped across it, accompanied only by the demonic ravens that flew in and out the room via the sole window bleeding dusk light into the room, its ray of light focused onto the desk. The legionnaire's footsteps joined the noise of quill scratching on paper and the occasional flap of wings. They kneeled several paces before the desk.

“Grand Gener-”

“Save your breath witch, You're hardly fooling anyone.”

His voice, normally demanding and powerful, was empty of his normal cadence; instead it was a tone of annoyance and tiredness . His eyes didn't move from their focus on whatever document he was occupied with.

“Hmph, it fooled those two out front.” The knights voice instantly changed, becoming light, taunting and most obviously feminine. They sprung up, with the speed of someone not burdened by heavy plate. With a flourish of what was disguised as a pole-axe the magical cover was lifted away becoming purple fog. A woman bearing a distinct crown, cape and staff was left in the space. Leblanc stretched her arms above her head as if the literal weight of the armour was lifted and yawned, both solely for show. 

With a deep sigh Swain set down his quill and looked over at her wearing her usual unusual clothes, her smooth pale skin showing through the gapped top and vented skirt. He figured she'd be coming eventually after his return from the war-front but dreaded it being while he was as occupied as he was. He leaned backwards, steeping his fingers and looking upwards at the woman before him. She stood hand on hip, smooth flesh visible clearly through the gaps in her webbed top and half-skirt. The inappropriate clothing for a mage was the usual annoyance for Swain but in this case, her smug smirk and sharp eyes looking down at him was far more frustrating.

“So, to what do I owe the displeasure?”

“Ooh, someone’s more direct than usual tonight.”

“As much as I enjoy our banter, now's hardly the time or place LeBlanc. After your last... gift, I've had no lack of clean-up to do.” 

Remembering the mess she'd put him in his brow further furrowed and his next words hissed through gritted teeth.

“Somehow, I figured you'd be above such methods as suicide attacks, but thank you for lowering my expectations further.”

“Hmm?”

She feigned ignorance, voice rising forcing a tone of innocence. Her heels clicked loudly against the stone floor as she approached the desk, decorated across it was a map of Runeterra, the Valoran continent focused in the centre, carved stone tokens were situated across it representing the key forces of the noxian army. LeBlanc's smirk widened, it was cute to her, Swain hardly needed to keep physical track of his army yet prided himself on keeping it documented, as if it were a game or art piece to him. She sweeped some of the carefully positioned pieces aside from the edge of the desk and placed herself on it, looking backwards over her shoulder at the increasingly annoyed general.

“Oh, you mean Granth, poor boy was so desperate for revenge after he knew the truth I couldn't say no.” Her bare hip flesh pressing against the wood of the desk drew Swains eyes for a moment, he pulled himself away and stood up from his chair, moving towards the open window. Hands clasped away from view behind his back and under his coat.

“And how do you figure he found this so called truth?”

“Not a clue Grand Gen-e-ral.” Purring out his title, she plucked up a piece off the map, ebony stone carved into the shape of a raven's head. He was hardly one for show but did enjoy his little things she mused.

“Back to the point, why are you here.” He'd get nowhere debating the specifics of her failed assassination so might as well be as blunt as possible.

“My my, you really are in a foul mood.” She rolled the raven piece between her fingers, taking a sick satisfaction from the symbolism. With the loud clink of stone on hardwood she placed it back down on the map. She stood up and lazily twirled her staff in one hand, musing her thoughts as she slowly strode to Swains side staring out upon the winding streets and stone structures that formed the Noxian capital. She looked up at him, he didn't return her gaze. Ever prideful in his stance, he was staring downwards at the streets, steely eyes only betrayed by the dark lines and bags under them. His body couldn't maintain his facade of strength. 

“...How many days have you spent in here Jericho?”

“I fail to see what that has to do with anything.”

“What good is a leader that’s about to pass out from exhaustion? You need to rest.” Her words seem to strike a nerve as his expression changed from unmoving indifference to a spitting scowl, words changing from being spoken clearly and precisely to hissed out in anger.

“Rest? How can I rest when I've the work of an entire army to do.” Raising his left hand, formed of swirling red demonic magic, he snapped his fingers. The sound was sharp and bounced around the stone walls for what seemed like seconds. The perched ravens dissipating into his shadow, after a few silent moments red and black bolts returned to Swains hand, each one seemingly impacting with force jerking his arm back slightly. Once the last bolt returned he clenched his magical fist a few times, breathing heavily. 

“I can see them, hear them, my supposed generals and leaders acting like fools. The Du Couteau children playing cat and mouse with their targets. My executioner whoring and partying himself to an early grave. Even Darius is lazing around drinking himself into a stupor. And then there’s you.” He flicked around and grabbed LeBlanc loosely around her neck, not enough to be a genuine attack but enough to cause her to consider her situation. The dark magic of his arm conducted like static across her skin, a freezing unnatural feeling. 

“Here telling me how to do my job while you avoid your own, whatever that is.” With a pop of magic and purple mist LeBlanc shifted backwards out of his grasp. Her smirk dropped. A look of disappointment growing on her face, an untold rule of their games broken with his physical lash towards her. Disappointment turned to concern and her voice from teasing to flat and forward.

“My Job, is the same as yours, making sure Noxus operates smoothly. The last time a leader was overly aggressive and didn't listen to reason there was a change of staff.” Regaining her composure and taunting tone she turned her nose upwards at Swain.

“But you know all about that, don't you? Anyway-” She strode back towards his desk.

“-What they’re doing that you seem to miss is relaxing.” She plucked up four different pieces from the board, holding them between her fingers upwards towards Swain. A wolf's head, an axe and two differently carved daggers. Anger toned back down to annoyance seeing her toying with his possessions, and his head cleared enough to register what she was saying.

“They know how to unwind. For someone that prides themselves on knowing everything you must've missed that somewhere.” She dropped the tokens haphazardly back on the board and held her freed hand in front of her mouth mockingly. Her words from before stuck to Swains thoughts more than her taunts. He'd sooner throw himself from the bastion than become the next Darkwill and undo everything he's worked towards. Defeated and tired, Swain dropped his shoulders and sighed.

“It pains me to admit it, but you're right.” His walk was slow and uneven as he walked back to the desk. Not even bothering to acknowledge her further and fix the scattered pieces of his board, he merely grabbed his heavy coat from the back of the chair and threw it over himself. Taking a deep but shaky breath he turned back to Leblanc who was twisting her staff in a showy display, her dark magenta mist forming back into the illusory armour she entered in.

“What was in that note you brought here?”

“Pardon?” Her illusion was advanced enough as to mask her voice as being both masculine and echoing inside the plates of steel.

“The note you forged Darius' seal on, it wasn't an illusion.”

“Oh, that. Blank, just a wax seal is enough to get past most of the guards around her. They’re too scared to double check since you executed the last guards claiming they were spies.” Swain could only roll his eyes and groan in response, half from the ineptitude of the bastions guard and half that she wouldn't admit they were her spies. At least he was sure they were.

Leblanc took his side in her armoured disguise as he swept open the doors. The clamouring and metal clinking of the guards standing at attention only adding to his frustration towards the pair.

“I'm retiring to my chambers, Lock the doors and patrol within the hour.” 

“Yes General!” The younger one snapped in response, seeming eager to appear dutiful while the other cursed under his breath at his mistake. Swain stopped in his tracks with a loud thump of heavy boots and turned slowly. His sharp gaze and scowl accentuated by the height difference over the increasingly nervous soldier.

“Was I demoted at some point and nobody told me?”

“No si-”

“I am no sir, and I am no mere general, you stand as the last bastion between an invading army and your commander and you cannot even remember his title.” His words were spat out in frustration as the guard shrunk downwards, hands trembling. Hardly a member of the Trifarian Legion but the noxian was still a high ranking soldier and had the appearance to match, yet they looked like a scolded child underneath Swain. He was frozen there, mouth gaping like a fish desperate for air but words failing to form.

“And now you've nothing to say? Then allow me. Consider your position vacant. How you made it to be a bastion guard is beyond me but you can find a new job tending the stables. Leave.”

“Yes, grand general...” The guard held his head low as he wandered away from his position still shaken from the scolding. Swain snapped his gaze to the other guard, not even giving the young failure the grace of a backwards glance.

“Have you anything to say?”

“No, grand general.” The other guards response was as static and unfeeling as his expression, seemingly unmoved by what happened to his equal. His demeanour however was broken by a sharp intake of air when the heavy, human, hand of swain fell on his armoured shoulder.

“Smart man.” They were words not of praise but warning him of the standard Swain demanded from his men. Held breath was released as the general dissapeared around a corner with legionnaire in tow.

They walked in stride alone through the hallways, dull orange light turning darker by the moment through open windows, out of earshot of any prying soldiers LeBlanc broke their silence.

“Feel better now you've scared a man half to death, dear general?” Her taunting tone was clear as day even through the illusory helmets filter. She was met with silence, but a sneer and raised eyebrow looking down, a look she's seen dozens of times before. A challenge.

“Well, let's see, he was a noble boy, a minor house but still one very vocal about you.”

“House Equire, yes.”

“Ahh, the war horse suppliers. Hmm, lets see. How did you do this one?” Her disguise turned to mist as she tapped her finger against purple lips in mock thought.

“You put the boy in a position he's far under-qualified for.”

“Step one.”

“Wait for him to make a mistake, even a small one, and demote him back to the stables.”

“Three, you missed one.” She crossed her arms and furrowed her brow, still a show but some genuine thought going through her head.

“Hmm, ah, the other guard, old and lazy, makes him comfortable and less tense. Easier to slip up.”

“Two.”

“So now, if the house starts to complain, you have power over them hm?”

“And how do I have power over them?” His question was masturbatory, a sick pleasure taken in his own plans told back to him.

“The Equire war horses are quite aggressive, it's not unheard of for an inexperienced stable boy to be kicked by them, only a little bit of outside influence would be needed.”

“And four. They're in Checkmate.” A wicked smile crossed his face. A smile of malice, pride and nostalgia towards this game they've formed before.

“And what if they do nothing in reponse, what then?”

“Then I gain a reliable soldier, shovelling horse shit does wonders for building character.”

LeBlanc broke into haughty laughter and formed a twisted smile of her own.

“An entire house, all their plans for rebellion quelled in four moves, a cruel and ironic checkmate at that. You win.” She moved up closer to Swain, looking upwards at him while almost leaning against his arm.

“I do love our games, Jericho.”

“As do I. You're right my dear, I do feel better now.” They halted as they arrived at a completely average door of the bastion. Not even locked. Swain twisted the brass handle and pushed it open, standing back and gesturing LeBlanc to enter.

“Would you care for some wine?” His question would've been an innocent court for any other pair, but to LeBlanc it was a proposal for more mental games.

“Showing an assassin where you sleep as well as inviting them for supper? It's a wonder you've made it this far Jericho.” Mocking him as she entered, unclasping and sliding her cape off. A basic coat rack inside the room catching it as she slid it off her porcelain hands in a needless show of flesh. Hey coyness, always a weakness of his, elicited a small chuckle from Swain as he entered the room behind her, sliding off his coat as he closed the door.

His room was modest but tidy, unfitting of a noble but perfect for a warrior. It's primary luxuries being the back wall converted into a very well organised and stocked book shelf accompanied by two cushioned chairs and a small table between them. On the table was a lone wine glass and a half empty bottle to match, along with a small candelabra, its sticks almost worn down completely, evidentially from many long nights spent alone reading the hours away. LeBlanc smiled ruefully as she remembered days gone where a similar set up of his was shared between them, a second glass always with the first. 

He interrupted her sombre thoughts walking past her towards the window.

“Beatrice must be out for the night...” His words were casual and small, to himself alone despite his company. In this moment she saw him as something different, but familiar to her. He wasn't Swain, the grand general of Noxus, a man whose name was feared and revered across regions, But Jericho, a man simply showing concern for a pet. It was a side of his person kept only to himself generally. Her thoughts towards him were broken once again by the clasping of glass panes close, looking back at her for a moment he moved onwards towards the table, pulling out the drawer under it and retrieving a second glass, a tinderbox and what looked like a flattened mass of leather from her distance.

Taking a breath and resetting herself, she returned her usual smirk to her face and moved towards the back of the room. The only sounds through the room being the click of her heels, the striking of steel on flint and the tired sigh of a man struggling to light a candle. She came up behind him and leaned in beside him, for a fleeting moment their bodies close together, she flicked her eyes down to him attempting to work the precise, worn tinderbox with his glowing hand. Moving her hand over the candles she pulled it away with a wave and the candles were lit. 

“I didn't know party tricks were taught at the Black Rose.” Swain mocked her show, needing to return the move somehow.

“I didn't know the all powerful Swain struggled with lighting candles.” A rising chuckle came through her words, Swain conceded the exchange turning his hands upwards in defeat. LeBlanc turned and took her seat. The cushioned chair was such a blessing after a long day she couldn’t help but close her eyes and let a relieved breath out, relishing the minor comfort. Opening her eyes halfway she could see the purpose of the leather Swain had fished out of the drawer, a heavy glove being pulled over his magical arm. He pulled the strap around near the base of the elbow, only a dull red blow bleeding through the gap between leather and his normal flesh.

“Disarming yourself now, if I didn't know better I’d say you were asking to be killed.” Her taunt went unreturned as he one handedly uncorked the bottle and poured a more than moderate amount into his glass. Holding her glass out at angle he looked down at her with a tired look returning. He poured her glass a reasonable amount. Without even looking up at him she gently shook her glass side to side to draw his attention and not cheat her out of any, begrudgingly, he let enough into her glass to match his own drink. Finally, he took his seat across from her, chairs angled in such a way they could look at each other over the table with only a gentle turn of their head. LeBlanc looked over at him but Swain had already leant back into his chair and closed his eyes, he obviously took more comfort in the rest than she did.

The dying light of the warm sunset barely illuminated the room, sun rapidly disappearing over the horizon. The dim orange met with the warm fire light of the candles on the table as they silently sat there mulling over their glasses and thoughts. Taking comfort in the environment. A welcome change from both the cold stone and crowded corridors of under the bastion for LeBlanc and the open, empty room Swain spent his last few days in. Despite their physical comfort, they were both still cautiously awaiting the other to make a move. It was Swain who broke the stalemate by cutting right to LeBlanc's thoughts.

“Do you really think I'd drop low enough to poison you? Drink.”

“Oh, perish the thought Jericho.” She swirled the deep red liquid in its vessel, admiring the appearance with sharp eyes. She was fairly sure it wasn't poisoned but the black rose was not one for being careless. Swain was almost disappointed by her actions and took a healthy sip from his glass before gesturing it towards her towards her own glass. A pale skinned arm reached over laid itself over his own, fleeting contact before hooking her fingers underneath his glass and pulling it away, at the same time pushing her own glass towards him over the table. In retaliation she offered her own insight into their drinking game.

“Not the drink but a coated glass, perhaps?” His only response was to bring the glass presented to him up to his lips and take a deeper swig. Wordlessly he proved her ideas wrong, callously and cold enough to send a shiver across her skin and a smile across her lips as she partook in her own hijacked drink, placing her lips carefully over where his own were. A subtle movement but not unrecognised by Swain, whether further avoiding the possibility of a poisonous move or a show of flirting was irrelevant to him. The game had well and truly started at this point.

They didn't take their eyes off each other. Constantly watching, surveying, analysing the smallest of movements made by the other. It became particularly difficult for Swain as the purpose of her webbed garments was becoming clear. Each scan of his eyes caught glimpses of her doll-like skin, almost turning a shade of blue with how pale and perfect it was. Her exposed body was illuminated by the candlelight ebbing across it, accentuating all the places her clothing folded and gripped onto her skin. The half-skirt covered the side opposite his vision, allowing a view of her supple thighs through mixed belt straps. Their smooth surface reflecting the candlelight dimmer and darker as it dissipated further away from the source, shadows accumulating between the areas crossed and covered via her unusual choice of clothing. As his eyes were moved hypnotically downwards they were only stopped by the hem of her stocking, cut above the end of the thigh as if to taunt onlookers. Realising his gaze had been redirected he snapped his eyes back up towards hers.

The flickering flame reflected out of her yellow eyes, she sat statuesque. Still and patient. Feeling his eyes crawl across her body was enough evidence she had one move over him in her own scheming. The last remnants of daylight were struggling to make their way through the glass. What light there was in the room only stemming from the dull candles. She planted her elbow on the table and rested her chin upon her palm, forefinger twirling a lock of purple hair in thought while the other hand toyed with the glass.

“Do you remember that night we shared on the north-west front, Jericho?”

“Hm, perhaps, would you care to jog my memory?” His response only drew out a low chuckle from her. She set her glass down on the table and strutted over towards the lone window, the sun completely set marked her time to make her move as she pulled over the heavy curtain blanketing the room in further darkness. 

With her distance from him and the limited light from the candles all he could make out was a silhouette of her shape with the flames only catching the barest of her appearance towards them, only one aspect of her showing relatively clear being the curved crown that adorned her head. An accursed object that marked the leader and host of the Black Rose, the source of their power and primary threat to Swains rule, this made it all the more an event when it was removed from her head and placed on the corner of a chest of drawers. The dark gem in its centre reflecting the smallest glint from the candles. Jericho Swain felt an emotion that he thought had long escaped him. Confusion.

Even without the candles giving enough light to show his broad body, it would've been clear he shifted in his seat. His mind was racing, only hindered in its planning and thoughts by his lack of sleep and energy. The click of her boots fell on deaf ears as his focus was locked onto the artifact that sat across the room from him. Evidentially, she had placed her staff against the drawers as well, similarly small fractions of light reflecting from its own gems and metals. The witch had disarmed himself within his reach. All he would have to do is raise his hand, destroy the wicked tools and leave her a defenceless mage, yet he felt no innate desire to. His demonic fingers twitched in anticipation to be used, but their wish left unfulfilled as he kept his gloved arm rested where it was.

A gentle and polite cough snapped him away from his stupor, back towards the figure who had walked back towards him, but carefully stood at the edge of where the candles reached. Herself barely visible past a shape. She moved her right arm behind her body, rendering it invisible to his line of sight. She could've pulled any number of weapons from her back, no doubt her magic even without its tools could hide a blade or primitive firearm acquired from somewhere outside Swains intelligence, but he sat without worry or concern. He was confident now if this were to turn to an assassination attempt without her tools he'd be able to stop her in a moment. His assumption for whatever her true motives were however, were shattered as he saw the shape of her skirt drop down.

Her primary piece of clothing now only held up by it's frontal clasp, her other legs slim shape was now visible in the shadows. The room was deathly silent, the sounds of the fine metal clasp being tinkered with clear as their conversations. A small clink of metal, then the sound of falling fabric as her lower body's shape was no longer obscured. Then another short tap of boot against stone. She stood a stride closer to Swain now, close enough to see his engaged and curious gaze upon her body, inversely close enough for the soft light of the candles to illuminate her next movements. Pulling one leg slowly up behind her. Painful, slow silence was followed by the louder thunk of her boot falling onto the stone. She set her foot down, vocally shivering as the painful cold of the lifeless floor permeated past her stocking and into flesh. The other leg followed, the only garment keeping her decent were now the deep purple webbed top that extended downwards to act as underwear and black stockings that extended just past her knee. Swains gaze was locked on her movements and as much as he was trying to ignore them, erotic thoughts and feelings were beginning to worm past his mental defences. 

She moved up to him slowly, her movements slow and exaggerating the curves of her body. She leant downwards ever so slightly, deep cleavage visible even in the low light of the candles. She stood in front of him now, even sitting their body differences allowed swain to look casually forward into her chest. A vision that wasn't helping with his efforts to control himself. Any hope he had of ending her turn of the game her was ended as she moved a knee in beside his thigh on the wide chair, his own leg moving inwards as if to accommodate it. The process repeated with her next leg as she was left straddling over him, the height difference now changed for him to stare level at her glass-smooth stomach, he pulled his gaze upwards to see her face half covered in shadow, but an obvious coy smile across her purple lips. 

She leaned over, making sure her breasts dropped directly in front of him, to return her drink to her hand. Taking a deep swig as she kept her gaze downwards at him. The position of power stoking a flame deep inside of her being. 

“I remember, it was a night a lot like this one. The day was fading away. You and I were sharing a beautiful drink and having wonderful conversation.” Words were slowly drawn out, descriptors accentuated with breathy exaggeration. After a painful pause to take a longer sip, she took her free right hand and moved it onto his shoulder, digging into the quilted heavy top he wore, as if desperate to feel the flesh underneath it. Relishing the feeling for a moment, she continued her speech.

“I think you remember that night very clearly Jericho.” Her words a challenge he was eager to respond to, it was his checkmate.

“And what could possibly makes you think that?” She pulled her face in close to his head, and breathed a whisper into his ear. 

“It's the same wine, isn't it?” Pulling back, they shared a wicked chuckle to each other. 

“Well played, my dearest general.”

“The same to you, my dearest witch.” He brought his own glass to his lips, pausing before drinking while keeping narrowed eyes on her person. A smug grin formed as he moved the drink vessel back to the side table.

“It truly is a lovely wine isn't it? What a shame someone would think to ruin it.” 

“Oh you tease, how long did you know?” Red blush was spreading across her pale face, a combination of the drink taking it's effect and growing arousal. Her hand moving from digging into his shirt to the parting near his neck and fiddling with the buttons, undoing the first couple before pressing her palm into the top of his chest. 

“You were waiting, the second I looked away from you towards those accursed legs you slipped something in. Then that little strip tease act to buy time for it to dissolve into the wine” Accusing words drew out a shaky gasp from her. While still feeling up his chest she dropped her bottom down from being held over his lap onto it, gently and slowly grinding against the growing lump.

“I'd be lying if I said it wasn't a good show though. A few years ago you might have caught me with that.” His matter-of-fact tone just stoked her feelings more. He moved his hand to help unbutton but it was stopped by her gently slapping them away. He was the winner but this was her prize. Placing her drink down she went to work with both her hands deftly undressing him. When she undid the final button, he lifted himself up allowing her to slide his top off his wide shoulders. A soft low coo escaped her lips as his chest was now fully visible. It was broad and strong but marked with the wear of battle. Callous skin, stab and slash wounds long since healed over, distinctive burn scars of magic splashed across his once-fine skin.

“Poor, dear Jericho, what have you done to yourself?” The edge of a sharp nail traced his marred flesh as her other hand gently rubbed his chest. Her eyes were scanning over the skin illuminated by the candles, searching for something.

“Some of these are from your kind, witch, do not act so innocent.” He tapped a mark near his shoulder that was clearly not from a conventional weapon, caused by a form of magic. She scoffed at the accusation, hardly in denial but amusement, she leant down to the mark and placed her lips against it. A soft kiss hardly made up for the painful experience that Swain remembered caused the mark but it was an enjoyable gesture nonetheless. A specific mark caught her eye as she pulled back from his scar, eyes lighting up finding what she was looking for.

“Ah, there it is.” The woman shifted herself over slightly, placing both hands either side of what she was looking at. Rueful smile returning to her face, she locked eyes with a mildly concerned Swain.

“This. Is what I remember. That night so~ many years ago. You were just a noble boy who got his first little war wound.”

“Hardly little, I nearly bled out.” A small amount of shame resurfacing at the memory. 

“Oh of course you did, and who did you crawl back to for comfort. Bloody, in pain, drunk off that admittedly very nice wine you staggered into the room of yours truly.” Her husky, taunting tone was equally arousing and annoying, but her last statement drew upon a bad note for Swain causing his expression to drop and glare at the woman stroking his chest.

“No. It wasn't you.” The correction was painfully sharp and caused her chest and smile to sink. An old argument they could never equalise on resurfaced.

“Jericho, it's still me, we've had this conversation how many times.” 

“You are not Emilia. Not any more.” Unwillingly, sadness pulled at his expression, subtle pain showing through. The woman, whoever she might be to him, took a deep sigh and moved her hands upwards gently holding his face towards her. They gazed at each other, pain, regret and sorrow shared wordlessly. They both knew what had happened, happened. Long ago their agreement on the matter shifted whatever relationship they had formed before they separated. The woman known as Emilia left for the Black Rose Order, while Jericho Swain made a name for himself as a soldier, they made their choices for the gain of Noxus above their own wishes. 

“...Without that crown, nothing's changed aside from how I look Jericho.” 

“You cannot say that. Too much has changed Emilia.”

“I know, I know Jericho...” Her thumb gently stroked against his temple. They couldn't tell each other how they felt any more. The relationship between the Black Rose and the Grand General wasn't one they could be so emotionally candid about. Their assassination attempts, mind games and nights like these were the only way the two could spend time together now, A sick, twisted and endless courtship. Eager to shift the night forward however, Swain took the initiative to break their sorrowful deadlock.

“Well, sitting here like this definitely won't change anything. But I must say, so far this might just be the worst assassination attempt from you in a while.” His humoured taunt caused her to drop her head down to his chest with a low husky chuckle. When she looked back up to him their expressions had returned to their usual states. The confident sharp look of LeBlanc challenging the assured confident stone wall that was Swain.

“The night's just started my dear, let's see where it takes us.” Holding his face firmly in her hands, she snaked her limber body towards his face with soft parted lips, stopped by his firm arm pressing into her chest before she could make contact. She didn't need to ask why, their game had continued. With a shrug and an eye roll, she responded with her own move. Her tongue poked out over her bottom lip. The pink muscle held there for a moment before slowly moving around and licking her lips as sensually as she could. The smooth surface of her tongue was glossy with saliva, leaving a new sheen over her now slightly smudged purple lips. She was met with the positive feeling of the bump against her crotch swell and twitch slightly. She finished the show by bringing her lips together and gently kissing towards his direction, barely enough to be audible even in the dead silence they found themselves in.

“Satisfied? No poisoned lipstick, all natural and the colours I know you like.”

“Very keen on telling me what you wouldn't do tonight, but after you ruined our wine forgive me if I’m a bit more cautious. Open your mouth.” She did as she was told, leaving her jaw slacked open for her lover to investigate. His left hand moved from holding her chest back to hooking its thumb into her mouth. He felt around in her warm, wet mouth for any hidden pills or other means of violence. The intrusion for her however, proved pleasant from the feeling of being used and invaded, her mouth went slacker as the her face flushed red and involuntary low moans escaped her assaulted mouth.

“Hmph, I'm almost disappointed.” She closed her mouth around the digit and suckled on it gently, the press against her lower parts growing stronger confirmed the movement got a response from him. Pulling his hand away was met with a taunting whimper from the aroused woman. She began to open her mouth, undoubtedly to respond to his claim but before she could form any words his hand easily grabbed the back of her head and pulled her into a passionate kiss.

Her lips were soft and slick against his own, their tongues meeting and moving against each other, her soft mewls of pleasure escaped though their sealed embrace. The bitter-sweet residual taste of the wine still clung to their mouths adding to the warm comfort of the action. She slipped her hands from holding his face to crossed over behind his head as her body bucked forward pressing her clothed breasts against his bare chest, the softness of her chest could be felt even through her bizarre clothing. Her crotch pressed down against the lump in his pants. A wetness began to build in her crotch, the only thing keeping it from seeping into his pants being her skin tight outfit.

They slowly pulled their mouths away from each other, a thin string of saliva held them together before sagging away down onto Swains chin. They struggled for breath through the building excitement. Their chests heaved against and into each other. Swain pulled his arm back from behind her head and wiped away the shared fluid that rested against his chin.

“Almost.” his sole word was enough for her to take as consent to go further. She sat upwards, the shift from her crotch pressed against him to direct downwards weight causing a slight ache in his crotch as his growing erection became desperate for release from his trousers. Her hands reached up her back searching for the hidden clasp holding her garment taut. Seeing her struggle and without thinking of his words he interjected.

“Do you need a hand?”

“Oh? A hand from you? That's rich, general.” She chuckled at her mockery while he tensed his lips, still smiling however. The tension releasing from her clothing visible in the candlelight as she breathed a sigh of relief and returning her arms to her side. She looked down at him and cocked a smirk.

“Well, if you insist, you can take it from here.” Swain shifted upwards, reaching upwards towards her. Taking a moment he held his good hand against her face admiring how it was still as soft and smooth as they first met, becoming the host for what was essentially a magical parasite had its benefits, he noted to himself. She closed her eyes and leant her head into his hand. It was a fleeting moment of affection before he slipped it down against her neck, she breathed sharply in as it brushed against the soft flesh of her neck and shoulder. The smooth fabric slipped smoothly off her skin as he pulled it down past her shoulder, she pulled her arm up and outwards to assist him with removing it, his efforts at removing clothes one handed rewarded with a view of her perfectly smooth and silken tit, a hard nipple barely darker than the skin around it crowning it. His erection was becoming painful as it strained against the dense fabric he was wearing combined with her weight pressing down on it. The cold air running over her exposed breast caused her to shiver more, she was getting desperate to take this to a warm bed but the enjoyment of teasing him was enough incentive to bear with it for now. Seeing his expression become more pained tugged at her heart strings however.

“Aww, getting a bit tight down there, Jer?” She got no response from him but he moved his arm to try and work on pulling his trousers down. He didn't make it far before she pinned his hand down causing a tongue click of annoyance to break his silence. 

“Move away.” 

“Hmm, I'm not sure, maybe if you asked a bit more po-lite-ly.” She pressed her weight down slightly harder with each syllable of the word. Eliciting a groan of pain on the last one. He had no option but to begrudgingly hiss out his request.

“LeBlanc, please mo-”

“That's not my name. Not right now.”

“...Don't do this.”

“Please Jericho, just once tonight will do.”

“Fine...Will you please let me undress, Emilia...” His words were slightly pained out but the emotional toil did nothing to calm his arousal.

“Hm, no.” He looked up in shock and anger before being cut off from objecting.

“Relax, I'll do it, you did manage get one arm off WITH one arm.” Her tone had returned to its normal taunting cadence. She brought herself up and backwards, a sigh of relief coming out from Swain as her body weight released off his crotch and onto his thighs. Her motive of needing her own relief from him pressing into her remained hidden as she slipped further backwards and off the chair. Standing back on the stone floor and only one breast still covered didn't help with her feeling the cold but foreplay was nearly done.

She slipped off the over half of her top much easier and quicker than Swain managed to do, earning her a look at him slightly embarrassed by his comparative struggle. The webbed fabric rested around her glassy stomach with the lower part still covering her, but bare chested against the air, she couldn’t contain a shiver which didn't go unnoticed by Swain. She knelt down in from of him, stockings giving a slight barrier between her soft skin and the stone, the shift of power position caused another aching twitch in his crotch. A smooth finger pressed into the hard bump, rubbing back and forth while earning a groan of annoyance from her partner.

“Oh fine, if it will please your highness.” She mocked, knowing monarchy a frequent annoyance of his, as she felt around for the buckle of his belt, swiftly undoing it and pulling it apart. That slight relief of pressure enough to earn another heavy breath from Swain. Cold spreading up her legs encouraged her to speed up the process, hooking slender fingers underneath the waist of his pants and thinner underwear beneath it and slip them off fully, removing his boots while she was there, a way to further move things along and tease herself away from her prize a little. Swain now sat in his seat stark naked and full mast, eyes closed just from the lack of pressure applied against him now. His moment of relief was interrupted by her response to his erection.

“Ooh, someone's excited.” Her warm breath washed over his rock-hard penis, she had moved her head closer to admire it. It was a reflection of himself, tall and fairly thick with a broad head that was engorged red from her build-up. The hair surrounding it smooth and ashen as the long locks atop his head. As much as the body of Emilia was relatively inexperienced, shared memories allowed LeBlanc to realise it was an impressive specimen.

With one finger she twisted around his swollen head and collected the pre-cum that had begun to leak and ebb out of the eye of his cock. Once she had made both her finger and his head slick and shiny with his pre, she softly nipped at the tender underside of it before standing herself up. Making sure his eyes were on her face and not bare body, she slowly licked the finger used to toy with him, relishing both the bitter, salty tang of his pre as well as the visual of his hand digging into the arm of his chair in anticipation. 

“You look like you're about to burst Jericho, it'd be a waste to pop over here.” With a quick puckered kiss of her lips she turned around and bent over deeply, rolling down her stocking while giving Swain another dose of torturous teasing with the unhindered, candlelit view of her firm ass. He was so fixated on her rear he took a moment to notice her pulling the combination garment down further. As it joined the collection of cloth at her bare feet he could catch a glimpse of her slick cunt reflecting the light from the flames off its wetness, barely a couple seconds glance as she righted herself back up, just enough to cause his cock to painfully throb another bead of pre out in anticipation. She looked over her shoulder at him sitting there in torturous arousal, edged along by her teasing to the point of being unable to retort any of her mockeries. Chuckling to herself she walked over to the pristinely made bed, destructive tendencies overtook her as she threw back the quilted top and sat on the side, bringing one foot up onto the soft bed giving him a clear view of her waiting wet slit.

“Don't keep me waiting then.” Her taunt was enough to break his silence and rise to the challenge.

“Oh, don't keep YOU waiting?” He chided as he walked over to her, standing over her on the bed with cock pointing directly at her chest. Before she could get any ideas to take charge her used his stronger gloved arm to push her backwards down onto the bed, landing with a soft thump. The same gloved hand pressed into the mattress next to her head as he joined her on the bed, attacking her neck with rough kisses, each drawing a gasp or moan from her. His free left hand roughly grabbed a handful of thigh flesh and harshly rubbed up towards her crotch while he assaulted her soft flesh, marks already forming on her pristine skin. He pulled his head away from her neck and looked down at her, long silver hair dropping down next to her.

“The matron of the Black Rose, reduced to a gasping whore by just a hand and mouth.”

“The -hah- Grand General of Noxus -hah- jumping on a gasping whore like a common -hah- soldier.” Even struggling for breath she was the only one who could match him retort for retort. He loved every second of it, the only person he would ever view as an equal but could never admit it. He moved his face down into hers, locking themselves into another passion fuelled kiss, fiery and more aggressive than the first. Moans, grunts and saliva escaped through the gaps in their lips as they nipped at each others lips and attacked each others tongues, a higher pitched chirp coming from LeBlanc as Swains hand moved from approaching her groin to pressing a finger against her entrance. 

His finger slipped in easily, her slickness built up from their games up until now. It sunk into her down to the knuckle as if it were being coaxed in. His cock still throbbing and desperate for release made it difficult to resist going straight for it but he held back, breaking away from their kiss leaving her gasping for air while moaning uncontrollably. He refused to be the first to reach orgasm here despite her setting up for it. He prodded a second finger into her, meeting some resistance at first from her tight entrance but regaining a fast pace before too long, the wet soft slaps from his fingers working away at her cunt while she struggled for breath through rapid yelps and moans was an orchestra of smut Swain took great delight in. He had her completely at his mercy and control and was keen to finish her off first by a direct assault to her weakest aspect, himself. He gritted his teeth and growled low to her.

“You witch. I've every reason to hate you, to kill you right now while you couldn't hope to fight back. You're weak. But I will not end you here. Do you know why?” He looked down at her, mouth agape and eyes half closed from the pleasure of being at his mercy. He leaned down closer and into her ear, just as she had done to him earlier.

“Because you are mine. I need you. You're the only one I need, every other piece on the board a pawn but you. You are my match.” her gasps increased in speed and her crotch began to buck around, it was an effort to keep his fingers thrusting in and out at the same pace of her as she was moving around. She was getting close, he went for the final move.

“I hate it. I hate that I love you, Emilia.” He bit down gently on the tip of her ear as he finished his sentence. As her name escaped his lips, her entire body was wracked by the spasms of pleasure. Her walls clamped down onto his fingers, moans turned to screams cut off only by him gagging her with the gloved hand, rumours of him courting a common screaming whore were not something he wanted. She bit down onto the leather to stop herself squealing as well. Red flush went darker across her face and breasts as her heartbeat reached a high, chest heaving with rough ragged attempts to regain her breath

As her body relaxed and reset from the sensations that overwhelmed her, he pulled the glove away from her mouth, clear teeth marks in the material. A wet patch had formed underneath her where she leaked and finished. She looked lost in pleasure as she heaved for air. The distinctive make-up lines under her eyes had run off to the side from tears and sweat, lipstick smeared across her mouth and red cheeks. As Swain, flicked away his fingers and moved to position himself against her, he mused that this was a good look for her. His cock was still desperately hard, veins throbbing along it aching for release which he was happy to indulge in now she had lost the first round. He moved in closer to her, kneeling over her with her legs to each side and using his good hand to help position his head against her entrance, but each thrust slid away from her tight entrance. Grunts of frustration were interrupted.

“Here, let me help.” Her husky voiced had returned to normal, shocking Swain for a moment, long enough for her to lock her legs behind him and twist to the side, knocked onto his side from his kneeling position he couldn't right himself quick enough before she pinned down his arms by the shoulders straight down.

“That was fun Jericho, and a lovely confession at that-” He could only look up at her smug face, still flushed and smeared but her eyes had returned to their wicked selves. She had him pinned at the arms and her legs pressed into his thighs before he could even react. A much more aggressive version of the position they had on the chairs. 

“-but you've had your fun, now let me have mine.” She pulled back from pressing down his arms and positioned herself behind his throbbing cock, standing strong enough against her that from sitting atop his legs it nearly reached her navel. She reached over it and ran the tip of her nail along the backside of the rod. Not hard enough to be painful by itself but combined with how swollen and teased it's been it was agony.

“This poor little thing must be in so much pain, it's been tormented all evening and now, all that's between it and release is you behaving. And asking nicely of course.”

“I stand by what I said, you are a witch.”

“Hmm, not the part of that I wanted to hear-.” She dug her nail into the hard dick a bit harder, drawing a hiss out from Swain.

“-but I’ll take it. For now' She released her nail from digging into the flesh only leaving a small red mark against the pillar. She placed her palm on the head and rotated it around gently, spreading the leaking pre-cum across it before raising herself over it. She held herself there taunting him and she licked the palm of her hand. A drop of her own juices dripped down onto his cock and as if a trigger she slammed herself down onto him, hilting from the start as it smashed into the deepest parts of her. LeBlanc hissed in pain while Swain rocked his head back and air escaped his lungs. 

Finally, his long awaited goal was wrapped around his cock in a warm, wet embrace, the pain and aches of needing release however were still growing with the new addition of feeling. As she pulled herself back up along the rod with shaking hips he could feel her walls wrapping and clinging onto him, his only response possible being to mindlessly groan and go along and lose himself in the pleasure. He tried to close his eyes and let it happen but was interrupted by the husky voice that had become his beloved hatred.

“I didn't say you could pass out on me, look at me.” Her tone was different, it commanded authority and that drew his attention, opening his eyes as she was hovered over him he was instantly met with her locking their faces together once again. Unlike before where they fought for control, she was the one who maintained aggression, her tongue invading his mouth and feeling out whatever she could. As she invaded his mouth she began to hilt herself on his spear again, his groan not making it out of their embrace as she ground her hips against him, spreading their fluids across his crotch. Her oral attack and hips toying with him were enough to finally allow him some release. She pulled away from him and stopped moving before he could say anything.

“I can feel it, you're close. Keep your eyes on me.”

She leaned backwards to the same position she speared herself on him to begin with, supported against the bed with folded legs. She chuckled as she ran her hand over her lower stomach, able to feel the swell from his dick filling her cavern completely. She licked her lips, steeling herself as she looked him straight in the eyes. She raised herself up, then just before he would slip out, slammed back down causing him to grit his teeth, shut his eyes and groan again at the combination of pain and sweet pleasure.

“I said look at me Jericho!” Her voice cut through his pain, he opened his eyes glaring at her through strands of his hair that had stuck together with sweat in front of his face. She was heaving for air just as much as he was, no doubt the intensity of the feeling was shared. She raised herself again, slowly extracting him from herself before smashing her hips back down. Slowly she was gaining rhythm with it, up slowly, then down fast. Intense and cruel, Swain never broke eye contact with her. As she began to reach a steady rhythm it was enough to drive him over the edge.

Ignoring her complaints and instructions, he reached up and grabbed her hips on the way up, slamming them back down at his own speed, then up, and down again. His stronger arms able to move her up and down along his cock by themselves. With a deep growl he pushed her down as hard as he could, digging his abused cock head into her deepest folds as he released. His boiling seed sprayed into her with no regard for safety, the hot liquid entering her enough of a final push to trigger her own orgasm. Her walls clamped down and twitched along his shaft milking out several long spurts of built up cum that spurted out of the sides of him down his groin and into the luxurious but now ruined bedsheets below them. The both of them experiencing such a strong shared peak led them to lose sense of themselves for a moment. Coming back to reality, LeBlanc was splayed across Swains body, leaking a steady stream of seed onto his crotch.

They both struggled for words, just staring at each other, hesitant to confess their true feelings on the night but not wanting to ruin the moment. Instead, they shared a gentle nod of understanding knowing they both felt the same about the matter. LeBlanc rested her head against Swains sweaty, worn chest. He wrapped his good arm around her and held her close.

“...Goodnight. Emilia.”

“Goodnight, Jericho.”

The exhausted pair fell asleep quick, a long day and intense night left them drained mentally and physically. Tomorrow their games would continue but for tonight, they could share each others company and sleep happy.

Epilogue

Tap, tap, tap. 

The distinctive noise awoke Swain, the sound of beak on glass. As he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes he surveyed the room. Judging from the state of his bed being a stained mess and his clothes discarded carelessly on the floor, he concluded the events of last night weren't a sleep deprived hallucination. Mixed emotions and thoughts on the matter were cut short by another round of taps on glass.

“Yes Beatrice, I'm coming.” The bird recognised it's masters call and trilled from outside the window. He staggered over towards the sole window, legs still shaky from the previous night. Normally he wouldn't be so callous as to approach a window nude but the combined tiredness and overloaded thoughts were of more priority. As soon as the part in the window was wide enough the raven hopped into Swains room, before jumping to the gloved arm chirping positively as it went.

“Where have you been dear, you had me worried sick.” The jet black raven stared back at its owner before as he turned to investigate the rest of the room. The chest of drawers that she had set her tools on was empty of course, but more curiously both glasses of wine were empty and the bottle missing. He chuckled realising she had won a move there, his eye was caught by one last detail. On Beatrice' leg a small note was tied, it didn't take much to imagine who sent it, the raven tolerated only two people to approach her. Removing it gently he had already figured what was on it but laughed heartily when his suspicion was correct. A black rose, printed horizontally across the scrap of paper.

“Go fetch a custodian dear, I require a bath.” He commanded his raven with a scratch on the head before she flew off.

“Emilia. You truly are my equal.” His voice was uncharacteristically soft as he mused to himself.

End.


End file.
